


The High Cost of Living

by ryulabird



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-05-27 13:57:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryulabird/pseuds/ryulabird
Summary: Harry has a method for how to live in new worlds he wakes up in. Learn the language, look up history, and get away from any reminders of what used to be. In this world that results in him living off the streets in America, not the most comfortable arrangement but not the worst either.At least it was until he ran into a mind reader, and then the mind reader turned out to be an alien....who invited him home. Now he's roommates with an alien and relearning how to live again.





	The High Cost of Living

**Author's Note:**

> Lol, where did this even come from? You might recognize this from my snippet collection, and there is more being edited. However, it will be a while for the next chapter to get posted as I'm focusing on other fics right now! In any case, let me know what you think~  
> Reviews are brain food!

 

The nice thing about outside dining, the _really_ nice thing, was that no one paid much attention to the tables. So long as the customer who sat at the table asked for their bill and appeared to pay, the waiters and other customers could care less about watching it. Harry could walk, confidently and quickly, past a few just emptied tables and grab some leftovers and maybe even a few bills tucked under a fork or napkin for a tip.

 

He felt a little bad about that. Taking the money. He knew the waiters and waitresses were the ones who got off worse for it, because he was never caught.

 

But, he also didn't have much choice, not if he wanted to survive. So, he tried to balance it out. Leave more bills if there was more food he could snatch and tuck away in a pocket. Of course, some days were better than others, and the bad days... were not fun.

 

Harry tried not to go to the same restaurants too often, circling across whatever city he was in for a few months before moving on. It depended how quickly he gained a reputation. In some cities people remembered the really clean, quiet, drifter who never ordered much, in others, not so much. But no matter how he tried, somehow, Harry was always noticed by someone eventually.

 

Unfortunately, today was turning into one of those bad days where not only was there not a lot of food, but someone noticed him. Worse—someone _caught_ him.

 

He was skimming a couple dollars off the top of a table, not even slowing down as he went past, despite the lingering guilt, when a hand grabbed his shoulder.

 

Harry flinched and tried to twist out of the hard grip.

 

“Hold on, son,” a low voice said behind him. Harry looked over his shoulder cautiously. The man holding his shoulder gave him a soft smile and slowly reached his other hand for Harry's coat pocket. “I don't think you meant to do that.”

 

People were looking at them, Harry's eyes flickered around the tables nervously. So much attention on him... he was cornered. Dammit, he'd only been in Middletown for a month! Even worse, _he really needed the cash now if he wanted a bus ride out of here_.

 

The man seemed to sense what Harry was planning and started to shift his grip, but a moment too late. Harry yanked hard and dropped down to his knees. The move pulled the man off balance and Harry rolled away and was up and running before he caught himself.

 

“Wait! Stop!”

 

Another man tried to gab Harry, so he leapt onto a table and jumped out onto the street with shouts behind him and cars braking and honking at him. He ran for an alley and never looked back, though he could just hear the pounding of feet catching up to him.

 

_Worst day yet_. Harry ran as fast as he could, but there were two men, the same ones who'd caught him snatching the bills, chasing him and they were really good at guessing which way he'd turn and cutting him off.

 

After nearly being cornered for the third time, and losing his breath from constant running in circles, Harry finally had enough. _Doesn't matter if they see me, if I get away_ , he thought.

 

He dashed around a corner into another alley and fell behind a dumpster. Just as the man chasing him rounded the corner, he apparated. He popped back at a spot he saw several blocks back—far from his pursuers and hopefully safe.

 

Harry looked around cautiously, his heart pounding in his head. He was near the middle of a long alleyway, out of sight from the busy streets, and the buildings around him didn't have any windows on the ground floor. No one could see him.

 

He sighed and slid down the dirty wall to sit for a minute and catch his breath. With luck, those two men would look for him several blocks over, far away from him, and he could calmly walk out the other way, catch a bus and get on his way to a new city.

 

Or, that's what he was hoping for, when a shadow fell over him and he looked up to find the very same man who'd grabbed him.

 

“Please, don't be afraid,” the man started, hands held out soothingly.

 

Harry glared at him and readied himself for another race to apparate out of sight. The man seemed to guess Harry was ready to bolt, and knelt slowly before him, hands still outstretched.

 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

 

Harry tensed and tried not to look too much like he was checking for the man's friend in the alley. _If he could just get to the end of the block, maybe he could cut across the busy street to the next block..._

 

“Please, you aren't in any trouble,” the man said suddenly. Harry's eyes flitted back over to him from the end of the alley. “Let me help you.”

 

Harry barely held in a snort. _Great, not only did the guy ruin his day, he had the gall to try and 'save him' as well. Bloody great._

 

The man frowned, but didn't move. Harry was starting to think he'd just have to run for it and hope he could get away without being grabbed again, when the man sighed and lowered his hands to his knees.

 

“I promise you, you aren't in trouble,” the man said again. “I just...want to talk.”

 

Harry gave him a derisive look. _Yeah, and_ he _was just looking for the toilets._

 

“Honest!” the man insisted. He leaned forward, as if trying to will Harry to believe him, and...something else. Harry thought for a moment that something had...brushed against him. He shivered and pressed back against the stained brick behind him, pulling away from the foreign sensation.

 

The man stared at him, eyes wide and startled, but then he smiled. “I... my name is John Jones. I am truly glad to meet you, though I did not mean to scare you so.”

 

Harry frowned at him in disbelief. _This guy was nuts. He really needed to get out of here_.

 

“I'm not crazy,” the man said with a rueful smile. “Simply, concerned.”

 

Harry stared at the man, a thrill of shock running down his spine. _He wasn't that easy to read, was he?_

 

“You are very expressive,” the man said wryly.

 

This was getting weird. _He was not going to have a heart to heart in a dark alley with some stranger that just chased him off his lunch money._

 

“If you are seeking sustenance, I would be happy to buy you a meal while we speak,” the man offered.

 

Okay, beyond creepy. _Had anyone ever been able to read him this well? Not without looking inside his_ \--Harry flinched. The man flinched too, and raised a hand consolingly.

 

“I'm sorry--” he began.

 

Harry stood so fast he tore his jacket scraping against the bricks. “ _Stay out of my mind!_ ” he yelled, and long neglected Occlumency shields slammed into place so quickly they made his head spin. If Harry needed any more proof that the man was a mind-reader, seeing the stranger reel back in shock at the same moment his shields closed around his mind was it.

 

They stared at one another, Harry breathing hard in near panic, and the man... not seeming to breathe at all, as if he'd frozen from the shock of Harry pushing him out of his head.

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, “I... am sorry,” the man said. He seemed shaken, but strangely excited at the same time. He shook his head and stood up, smiling gently at Harry as he had only just before. “I should have kept my distance. I am afraid I've become too used to the...openness of the minds of this world's people.”

 

Harry frowned, confused and a little worried. _This world…? Did the man know him? Not who he was of course, but did he know that Harry wasn't...?_

 

“I would like to introduce myself again,” the man paused and looked around them. “But not here.” He looked at Harry worriedly. “Would you... please come with me? I promise, I will not harm you in any way.”

Harry looked longingly down the alley. He could just leave. Run again, and keep running, like always. But... when would he ever have a chance to talk to someone who was obviously not normal? Someone who might be... like him?

 

“Where?” he asked hesitantly.

 

The man smiled and reached into his suit jacket for a small notebook and stub pencil. He wrote something down, ripped the page out and handed it to Harry.

 

“If you could meet me here in an hour?” the man glanced behind him at the opposite wall. “I must convince my partner to head back to the station without me, and I have already riled him up chasing after you.”

 

Harry looked down at the neatly scrawled address. “How do you know I'll show up?” he asked.

 

The man grinned at him. “Because even this distant, I can tell you are as excited to speak with me as I am with you.”

 

Harry clutched the slip of paper tightly. He couldn't argue that. “Whatever,” he muttered.

 

The man nodded at him and stepped back. “See you there,” he said before turning and walking away down the alley.

 

Harry watched him go. Once the man reached the end and turned the corner, he twisted and apparated away.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, Harry was pacing across the street from the place Jones had written down. There wasn’t anywhere to hide on the street because it was all residential, apartment buildings and locked doors. A couple cars were parked on the curb, but most people would still be at work this time of day. Why did Jones want to meet here? Was this where he lived? Harry wasn’t sure what to think if it was.

 

He also wasn’t sure if he should go up to the door or not. He stopped and looked at the building he was supposed to meet Jones in. It was a nice red brick three story with flowery bushes edging the front. _What if Jones wasn’t there? What if he was? What were they going to talk about? ‘Hey, you seem different, I am too, wanna hang out?’_

 

Harry groaned quietly and turned back down the street. _What if it was a trick?_

 

“Pardon me.”

 

Harry looked up to find John Jones standing before him, smiling hesitantly.

 

“I am glad to see you decided to come,” Jones said. “I apologize for being late.”

 

“Er, that’s alright,” Harry said awkwardly. “I haven’t been here long.” It took nearly the whole hour for Harry to talk himself into coming at all.

 

“Good.” Jones smiled again, then stood there. “Ah, would you like to come in?” he finally asked, gesturing across the street. “I can cook something for you, there are several recipes I have found that are quite tasty.”

 

Harry blinked. “Uh, sure…” he said, and they walked across to Jones’ building.

 

The man’s apartment was on the third floor. It was clean and very empty. There was a television on a beat up little table and a couple wooden chairs, and...nothing else. Not even a rug or pictures on the walls.

 

Harry looked around, slightly worried. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

 

“Please, have a seat,” Jones said, waving a hand at a table tucked out of sight in a corner near the kitchen. He went over to the TV and picked up the two chairs and brought them over to the table. “I am sorry, I’m afraid I am not used to hosting guests.”

 

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Harry said as he sat. Jones walked over to the fridge and began pulling boxes and jars out to place on the counter.

 

“Have you ever had spaghetti?” Jones asked.

 

“Er, yeah,” Harry said awkwardly.

 

Jones grinned over his shoulder. “It is surprisingly good, isn’t it?”

 

“I guess so…” Harry shrugged. _What was surprising about spaghetti?_

 

They both fell silent while Jones turned on the stovetop and arranged pots, bowls, and the collected ingredients. Harry was terribly confused. He’d expected, well… maybe questions? Talking? Jones seemed incredibly eager to feed him, and Harry hadn’t met anyone like that since Mrs. Weasley.

 

He watched the man for a minute before looking back at the apartment. _Why was there so little here?_ Aside from the television, it looked terribly unlived in. It reminded him uncomfortably of his own room at the Dursley’s, except, even there, Harry had left more of a mark than Jones had on this place. Of course, there might be more in the man’s bedroom, which Harry assumed was behind one of the closed doors across the room, but….

 

Harry looked back at Jones, carefully pouring tomato sauce into a pan. He wasn’t adding anything else to it… just tomato sauce in a pan. Harry looked back at the empty room.

 

Nope. This was probably all there was. At most, he would guess there was a bed with sheets, and a closet with some clothes, and all the bare hygiene essentials, and nothing more. The man had no hobbies, no interests, no friends to invite over, and he could read minds.

 

Harry frowned. _Who in the world had he followed home?_

 

“Do you mind if I ask you your name?” the man asked over his shoulder. Harry blinked and looked up. Jones smiled placidly at him, stirring the pot of tomato sauce.

 

“Uh, it’s Harry,” he said. “Harry Potter.”

 

Jones blinked slowly. “Oh.” He frowned and looked back at the stove. Then he turned around with a soft cry. “Oh! Of course, my apologies.”

 

Harry flinched when Jones suddenly strode toward him, grinning broadly.

 

“I didn’t even think--but, of course, you were trying so hard not to--” the man was babbling as he sat down across from Harry, “--and you closed off so quickly--I don’t know how you learned that!--so you don’t know--I am deeply sorry,” Jones slowed down and bowed his head.

 

“Er, no problem?” Harry said faintly. Jones looked up with a smile.

 

“Here, this should help.” And then Jones turned into a green alien.

 

Harry froze, caught staring up at red eyes in a strange, angular face, high above him on a slim neck and sharp shoulders. Jones looked at him quizzically, head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

 

“Ah, you may...if you wish,” the alien said. One long three digit hand came up to wave languidly around the room. “I promise, my dwelling is quite safe. No one will see us.”

 

Oh. _The alien thought he was an alien._ Harry looked up at Jones weakly.

 

“Uh...I--I’m not...er,” Harry trailed off, fidgeting under the strange red eyes watching him eagerly. “I’m human..?” he shrugged. Jones blinked at him, or at least Harry thought it was a blink. The red dimmed a bit.

 

“Oh.” The face was hard to read, but Jones seemed to be at a loss.

 

Harry coughed and looked back at the stove. “Uh, I think the sauce is burning.”

 

Jones jumped up and hurried over to the stove. His strange body was long and thin, almost fragile looking at the wrists and ankles, but the shoulders were wide and surprisingly thick. His skin didn’t look quite like skin anymore, aside from being green, it seemed scaled, but so smooth it shone in the light like glass. There were strange, bulbous ridges around his chest and under his arms, and a crest coming down from his head along his spine.

 

Harry wondered suddenly, why he didn’t have any clothes. Was it an alien thing? He’d worn clothes as a human...except, no, those vanished into his body. So, was he naked?

 

“I… am sorry, I thought…” Jones said from the stove. Harry thought he was stirring the sauce pan a little frantically. “I mean, when I touched your mind, and you reacted…”

 

“You thought I was like you,” Harry said quietly. Jones seemed to curl in on himself over the stove. “I thought you were like me.”

 

Jones twitched and turned to look at him. “You are human though.”

 

Harry made a face. “Yeah.”

 

“Yet, humans do not have any telepathic ability,” Jones said questioningly.

 

Harry shrugged. “None that I’ve met here.”

 

They looked at each other silently. Harry cursed himself for ever thinking he’d find another wizard. He knew it was foolish, he _knew_ , but he’d still come here, hoping for… he didn’t know. What he wanted wasn’t possible.

 

Jones turned back to the stove to put the noodles in the pot of water. It was like he didn’t know what else to do but finish the task he’d started.

 

Harry bit his lip and looked down at the table. He didn’t have that much to complain about really. Even if he was the only wizard in the whole world, at least he was still human.

 

“Uh, so… how long have you been stuck here?” Harry asked awkwardly.

 

Jones glanced back at him, then looked down at himself. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t…” he muttered and then melted back into the average human man that had chased Harry through half the alleyways of Middletown earlier that afternoon. He even grew a suit out of his skin, and suddenly, there was John Jones again, looking perfectly, humanly normal.

 

“You don’t have to,” Harry said with a grimace. “It is your house.”

 

“Ah, apartment,” Jones corrected blankly as he stirred the noodles and took the sauce off the burner. “But in any case, I do not wish to make a guest uncomfortable.”

 

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Harry muttered to himself, “just...a little disappointed.”

 

Jones was quiet for a moment, then, “I understand the sentiment.”

 

“Sorry,” Harry said softly.

 

“As am I,” Jones replied.

 

They slipped into silence again, this time more melancholy than awkward, until the noodles were done and Jones was placing everything on plates and bringing it all to the table.

 

“Er, thanks, for feeding me,” Harry said. “You don’t have to, you know. Especially since….”

 

“I am pleased to,” Jones said as he sat. “I would not have offered otherwise.”

 

“Would you have offered at all if you didn’t think I was…” Harry waved vaguely at Jones.

 

Jones stayed silent. Harry smiled grimly at his plate. They weren’t pretending to be friends anymore, but at least he was still getting a meal.

 

Although, it wasn’t really the best food Harry had ever had. Bland would be the kindest word he could use for it.

 

“So… this is your favorite dish, you said?” Harry asked.

 

“Oh, yes,” Jones said after swallowing quickly. “It is very similar to a type of food from… from home.”

 

“Oh.” Harry blinked. “Uh, can I ask what makes it similar?”

 

Jones frowned. “I suppose. Why do you want to know?”

 

Harry shrugged and swirled some noodles around his fork. “Well, it’s, uh, interesting, I guess? I mean, for anything to be… similar to your home.” He shoved the noodles, bland tomato sauce and all, into his mouth. Harry just wasn’t suited to heart to heart conversations--human or alien.

 

Jones nodded. “I suppose that is true. I admit, I was rather surprised, when I first tasted it.” He looked down at his own plate. “The texture, more than anything, is what most reminds me of _tar’kask’iss_ , a popular dish back home. But the flavor, was also a subtly pleasant reminded of a, hmm, I believe the term is snack food?” Jones lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “It was quite enjoyable, but I admit, I haven’t been able to properly recreate it yet. Mostly, it is now just the texture that is appealing.”

 

“Oh, so, you got it from a restaurant then?” Harry asked.

 

“Yes.” The alien frowned at his plate. “I apologize, I should have simply bought food for you, I realize this is likely not palatable for a human-”

 

“Is it that palatable for you?” Harry interrupted. Jones looked up at him, still frowning. “I mean, you said this only reminds you of the texture of some other dish, so… Is it any good? Do _you_ like it?”

 

“I am sorry for how poorly this was made,” Jones said hesitantly. “I will call out for something.” He stood quickly, giving the plates and Harry a concerned look.

 

Harry grabbed his sleeve as he passed. Jones froze and stared at him. Harry wondered if he was touching skin and maybe being inappropriate by alien standards. He let go.

 

“Look, I’ll eat anything, so long as it’s edible,” Harry said, turning to look at the table, “and this is free, so I’m really not going to be picky. But I asked if _you_ like the food.” Harry glanced up at the man-alien from the corner of his eye. “You’re eating it too.”

 

“I…it is adequate,” Jones said softly. He was staring hard at Harry, as if trying to look inside him. Harry made sure his shields were still holding and tried not to look too bothered.

 

“Adequate and good are really not the same thing.”

 

“You...are human,” Jones said slowly. Harry shifted awkwardly under the intense gaze and shoved another bite of noodles into his mouth. “Yet...this is not your world. Is it?”

 

Harry glanced sideways at the alien and chewed his food. Jones didn’t seem at all impatient, simply watching him curiously, as if he’d never seen a human before. Dear Merlin, an _actual_ alien.

 

“How do you figure that?” Harry finally asked after he swallowed.

 

“Because you took a chance coming here, hoping I was like you,” Jones said wonderingly. “You are alone.”

 

“Like you,” Harry said, not really intending to be cruel, but edge of mean-ness came out anyway. Jones flinched and Harry looked down at his plate, ashamed.

 

“Yes,” Jones said softly. “Like me.”

 

After a long silence, during which Jones simply stared at him while Harry kept his eyes on his plate, the alien in human skin finally sat down and resumed eating. They didn’t talk again until they had both finished and Jones was picking the dishes up and taking them to the sink.

 

Harry felt that was the end of it. He got some food, Jones seemed to have forgotten the money he stole, and he’d pretty much ruined any chance of him and the alien making nice. So, it should have been the end, and he would leave and they would never see each other again. But apparently Jones had another idea.

 

“Do you have a place to stay?”

 

Harry paused as he was pushing his chair under the table, and looked up. “What?”

 

“Do you have a place to stay?” Jones repeated, turning to look at him over his shoulder. “It is a simple question.” He turned back to the sink and started the water running. “I only ask because I find myself concerned over how you might be making a living here.”

 

Harry stared at the alien blankly. Jones turned the faucet off and started washing the plates with a soapy sponge. Harry blinked. This was too weird, maybe he’d heard wrong?

 

“If you do not have anywhere to go, you are welcome to stay here,” Jones said quietly. He glanced again over his shoulder. “Until you get on your feet, as I believe the saying goes.”

 

“Excuse me, but _what?”_ Harry exclaimed. “Why would you--what the hell does it matter if I-- just! _What?”_

 

Jones stopped what he was doing and turned around, eyes slightly wide and confused looking. “I… am sorry, is it not appropriate?”

 

“Not _appropriate?”_ Harry repeated. This was not happening.

 

“I merely thought...if you are having a difficult time,” Jones paused and tilted his head, looking at Harry as if only half seeing him. “It is just that I know how hard living in this world can be, especially if you have no place to live. Simply having an apartment was a great deal of help to me.”

 

Harry just stared at him. Jones had quietly finished the dishes and laid them out to dry before Harry was able to voice an answer.

 


End file.
